


it's not a cry you can hear at night

by pan_ismyhomeboy



Series: Hallelujah [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, D/s elements, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_ismyhomeboy/pseuds/pan_ismyhomeboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There will never not be violence between them.</p><p>Spoilerific for Cap 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not a cry you can hear at night

There will never not be violence between them. One is too bright, too pure, too good to possibly exist in this world, a world so thoroughly tainted by greed and starved for power it would create him  — create _either_ of them, because they are both symptoms of a world gone mad  — to fight its darkest shadows. The other is too cold, too detached from whatever remains of his own humanity to do anything but follow the decades-old programming still thrumming under his skin. They collide like inalterable facts of the universe, caught in the instinctive give and take of the hunt. It’s a dance the Winter Soldier knows intimately, perhaps the only one he still remembers anymore, and between him and this man who calls him impossible things like _Bucky_ and _friend_ it is all they can do to resist being torn apart.

Whatever had been between them before, and _all_ that had been between them before, is obliterated in the sheer exhaustion it takes to even look at the other. They will never not be on edge, never not expect the next blow, the next mission, the next memory that used to be theirs.

It is the height of irony that both were created in hopes of saving the world through some imaginary final act of violence (one defensive, the other offensive, though when it comes right down to it a weapon is a weapon is a weapon and neither of them are, neither could be, the same men they once were). But war never ends and war never changes and there will never come a day they can lay down their arms and cease to be soldiers.

The fall into the Potomac feels like a baptism if Bucky still remembered what that even meant. He reacts automatically but this time it is _his_ reaction, his autonomy, that has him swimming through the murky waters and fishing out  —

_a memory fever-bright against the inside of his skull, anger masking fear at the younger man, the smaller man, the fucking_ **_stupid_ ** _man who kept getting himself hurt because he couldn’t leave well enough alone, who did things like stand up to bullies in the schoolyard and call out assholes in the theater and once nearly drown trying to save someone’s cat from the Hudson for the love of Christ, this reckless man who believed so blindingly that the world should be better than it was, that Bucky_ **_was_ ** _better than he was even then, and the force of all these rememberings nearly crushes him before he can save_

—  Steve. He is alive and they are both alive and Bucky remembers the touch of the sodden fabric in his hand and the splinter of bone beneath his fist and it is all he can do to force himself away from this impossible man and an impossible life that should never have been his.

.

They fuck and flee and fight and freeze and not necessarily in that order. They are drawn together across a gulf of distance and years, turning toward the other like a plant greedy for light. They are a _they_ as incomprehensible is that is; there is a history now where before there was only dark and cold efficiency, the hint of memories in a space once unquestionably blank. It is like coming into a room and noticing, only for the first time, a gaping hole in the roof that lets in both the sun and the snow. The Winter Soldier looked and, for the first time since he was made, noticed Bucky. Always there, hidden away in the attic like a piece of broken furniture, forgotten, gathering cobwebs and dust. Or (since the house metaphor is really working for him now, lying awake at two in the morning on the uncomfortable box springs of a seedy motel room he never intends to pay for) like suddenly realizing there is a basement in his well-lived home, gaping like a wound and somehow managing to be both threatening and enticing all at once. He cannot help but want to descend into that darkness, but neither can he help freezing in the staggering certainty of what he doesn’t know and isn’t ready to face.

And so in the weeks and months after the destruction of the Triskelion, Bucky finds himself drawn overwhelmingly to this specter of a past he doesn’t even remember. Sometimes Bucky is the one running and sometimes he’s the one chasing but the end result in the same: footsteps across a city rooftop or through a forest or some abandoned warehouse, one finally tracking down the other and then  —

The energy between them is exhilarating and deadly and devastating all at once. Bucky’s heart aches to see the way Steve looks at him, like he can’t decide if he’d rather the other man died back in the 40s or left _him_ to die in the middle of the Potomac instead of facing him down now. Vicious blows, a narrowly-dodged kick to the head, the echoing clang of metal on metal as Bucky deflects the shield with ease. This is a dance they’ve had time to acclimate to, one performed with a seemingly seamless ease that belies the fear and anger in both men’s hearts. Hyperfocused, tuned to each other’s movements to the exclusion of all else in the universe, it is both surprising and inevitable at once when Steve falls and Bucky sets upon him, a flurry of punches now replaced with a searing, desperate kiss.

There are no _are you sures_ or _I missed you so much_ or, even, any words at all. Instead there are moans and wordless cries, sharp hisses as teeth meet skin and grunts of frustration when uniforms prove too unwieldy to push aside with haste. Lips slide over lips and Bucky doesn’t remember doing _this_ but he remembers the wanting, the tug of caution that quelled the fires burning in his belly so very long ago and with a savage snarl he flips the both of them over and pulls Steve down against him, body prone in offering.

Steve is  — well not _pliant_ exactly, but eager in his own reckless way that has little to do with his self-imposed chastity and everything to do with the man still fighting beneath his touch. They fuck like they fight, violent and hungry and unwilling to yield. Not this time at least, not when they’re a tangle of limbs and reddening marks from teeth and lips etched into skin, not when Bucky needs him and Steve needs Bucky and maybe, just maybe they’ve found something like equilibrium for a few precious moments under the sky.

It is over almost as soon as it begins, a shudder from both, teeth drawing blood and Steve knows it will heal within a day but thinks he would give anything to have proof of Bucky’s existence indelibly marked into his skin. He is dazed and distracted in the seconds after the orgasm, reacting too slowly when Bucky shoves him away and leaps to his feet. And then he is gone, nothing but a cooling presence on Steve’s half-naked body.

Later that night Steve feels guilty, but only so much, when he uses these memories to jack off. In the solitude of his own room he tells Bucky all the things he couldn’t earlier, moans his once-partner’s name into a hand clasped tight around his own mouth. He remembers the strength of those hands holding him down, the shock of cold metal against too-hot flesh, the heat in Bucky’s eyes that burned the same way hypothermia burns: crawling beneath his skin, poisoning his blood, sending shards of ice straight to his heart. _Please_ he pleads into his hand, _Bucky, let me, please_. But he never finds out what he’s begging Bucky’s ghost for, coming hard into one palm while biting the other hard enough to break skin.

When he cleans up in the bathroom, the ugly mark against his shoulder is already healing and he slams his medicine cabinet hard enough to shatter the mirror. Glass splinters and falls, coating the counter and sink and floor with tiny reflections of himself. Steve closes his eyes and takes a breath, fighting back a dizzy rush of hopeless anger. He does not beat his fists against the wall and tear the apartment apart in a fit of pique only because he knows it will not make him feel better in the end. He does, however, leave the glass until tomorrow for morning Steve to worry about. Returning to bed, he curls on his side and repeats the day’s scenes over and over in his head until he finally manages to sleep.

.

Another memory, suspended in ice: procedures conducted without anesthetic, infection seeping in before his altered body is strong enough to fight it off, a delirium drunk with fever and fear. Steve is all he knows and all he hopes for in the few lucid moments he can wring from his life. He will be rescued, he will be saved, Steve’s name slipping from his lips like a prayer between the echoes of sawblades and screams in the makeshift operating room.

When the pain recedes, so does his old identity; he does not have the ability to register his emotions anymore, much less to identify them as betrayal and despair.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_ No. Who the hell is Steve?

.

He steals newspapers and starts scanning the evening news when he breaks into motel rooms to stay the night. It’s been a long time since his mission was over but he’s no closer to discovering who he is (or once was, or whatever, does it even fucking matter anymore?) than he was the day he hauled Steve out of the river. Bucky doesn’t know why he does much of what he does, only that his heart thrills every time he catches the patriotic flash of red white and blue across the television screen. He reads everything he can get his hands on, even if much of what he reads makes no sense. (In the background of his mind he thinks about the fact he cannot remember learning to read or acquiring most of his skills, left only with knowledge without context.) Steve is a hero, an inspiration, a teammate, and Bucky picks up bits and pieces about the Avengers Initiative and what had happened in New York. He wonders how much of this is true and how it fits into what little he knows about the other man. It doesn’t feel right in his gut to think of Steve being alone, in any sense of the word. The man belongs at the helm, issuing orders and serving as an example to the men under his command. He belongs in the company of friends and loved ones, surrounded by people who cherish him, who don’t call him things like _my mission_ or beat him within an inch of his life or fuck him at the end of weeks-long chases only to disappear and start the cycle all over again.

Bucky doesn’t know much these days but he knows he doesn’t deserve Steve and he doubts he ever did.

The memories come faster now, unbidden, threatening to drown him. There are scenes without emotions and emotions without scenes, as though something has started dumping random data into his mind with no worry for the person sorting through the experiences on the other side. He remembers being called Bucky but does not remember _being_ Bucky; he thinks he should feel that the modern world is confusing and dangerous but does not remember a life before today. He marvels at being able to change clothes and push a cap low on his face, suddenly invisible to entire streets of people. They do not recognize him as any of his incarnations and it occurs to him that not only can he run, he can lose himself completely in the mess of any city and never be found again. That sort of freedom is terrifying to contemplate after years on a leash and though he can choose to go out and look at pictures of the man they tell him he once was, he feels tethered still.

He misses Brooklyn the way he misses his arm, in the manner of missing something that _should_ be there but holds no meaning for him anymore. He misses Steve more, because Steve is something both Bucky and the Winter Soldier can remember in vivid detail. And so he finds himself returning to DC again and again, unwilling to withdraw but unwilling to press the advantage either. Time melds together as he watches from afar until finally he cedes defeat, breaking into Steve’s empty apartment to wait. It is not their usual game of cat and mouse, no glimpses on rooftops or chases through remote wilderness. Still, Steve seems unshaken to find Bucky in his home, pausing in the doorway only to say, “There are kids in this building. If you’re here to fight — ”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” Steve replies without hesitation, and when Bucky just looks at him he says, “I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you.” He comes to some conclusion and slowly closes the door behind him, keys tossed to the counter, pulling off his jacket.

“Til the end of the line?”

“Yes,” Steve says again. He braces when the other man stands and Bucky can see the wary calculation in his eyes: space, distance, leverage, apparent condition of his possible opponent. Bucky knows because he’s making the same calculations despite himself, an autopilot program he isn’t sure he wants to turn off yet. Steve doesn’t move, even as Bucky takes one slow step at a time and boxes him into a corner. “Do I need to get my shield?”

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

“And they say _I’m_ the bad liar.”

Three steps. Two. A moment of shared breath, tension coiling between them before they crash together like animals in heat. Bucky’s teeth find Steve’s throat but Steve’s grip is tight in Bucky’s hair as he hauls him over to the counter and slams him down with force to crack the formica. Bucky’s stares up with wild eyes as his left hand grasps Steve’s forearm hard enough to grind bone. “I’m _not_ lying,” he hisses, and before Steve can respond Bucky surges up for a painful kiss.

Steve has the advantage and it is almost distressing how easily Bucky yields because _nothing_ is ever easy for them, not without it being the calm before the storm. Steve does not pretend to know the man beneath him or understand the frightening play of emotions in his own chest  — fear, sorrow, rage, possession. This last one catches him off guard in its ferocity as he holds Bucky down and sucks his lower lip between his teeth, feeling the basest of satisfaction when Bucky presses against him and lets out a guttural moan.

“ _Mine_ ,” Steve snarls, and “Yes,” Bucky whimpers, and they are both gone.

. 

There is a fight for dominance more often than not and Steve is not always the one who wins it. Bucky holds both wrists behind Steve’s back with his metal hand while he bends Steve over the bed with his human one. It is in these moments, balls deep in Captain Rogers and biting savagely at his shoulders, back, anywhere he can reach, that the mission is still alive and well in Bucky’s mind. More than once there is a close call where the Winter Soldier comes out to play and things become more asphyxiatory than erotic. There are times when all he can think about is destroying Steve from the inside out, making him beg until he sobs with need that never quite gets fulfilled. And Steve is there to offer himself in those times (because that’s what Steve fucking _does_ , the selfless selfish bastard and the part of Bucky that is starting to become Bucky Barnes again absolutely hates him for it) even if Bucky isn’t sure that he _doesn’t_ want Steve dead sometimes or most of the time or all the time.

But then there are battles that end with Bucky running fingers (shaking flesh, tremorless metal) across Steve’s face, repeating, “I know you, I _know_ you,” as though trying and failing to convince himself. In these moments Steve takes his hands (both hands) and kisses the palms before pushing Bucky against the nearest surface and fucking him until everything, past present and future dissolves. _Mine_ is the mantra and _yes_ is the response and Bucky is far too willing to take the reins from HYDRA and pass them to Steve instead.

There are entire months Bucky doesn’t return at all, only to show up at the strangest times: a flash of sunlight glinting off metal, things rearranged so slightly in Steve’s apartment he almost thinks he’s imagining it. There are weeks Steve can’t leave his apartment because he and Bucky are fucking multiple times a day and the rest of the world can go to hell as far as both are concerned. Either way, they dive into each other to find an absolution that isn’t coming for a past they’ll never change.

And no matter what does or doesn’t happen, no matter how hard Steve tries, Bucky never, ever stays.


End file.
